


A Hollow Darkness

by NGenius87



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Hate Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, characters with dialogue tagged, mentions of Peter Parker/Michelle Jones, no beta we die like men, other characters just mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28101027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NGenius87/pseuds/NGenius87
Summary: Peter's on the run, homeless, lonely - he thinks this is about as low a point as he can reach. What he didn't plan for was Beck returning, with a new trick up his sleeve and the goal to make Peter's life even more miserable. And when Beck succeeds in that task, Peter finds himself spiralling further down the rabbit hole, reaching new lows of shame and humiliation - but why does he also kind of like it?
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15
Collections: SSBB Kinkmas 2020





	A Hollow Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Second submission for SSBB Kinkmas 2020 - prompt is hate-fucking  
> Not having written for this prompt before, let me know if I missed the mark  
> Consent is sort of all over the place, really, and there is minor character death - let me know please if I need to change the warnings or add tags  
> Ludwig is Quentin - Guterman came up with the traveller named Quentin in the movie, so it's my headcanon that Beck has a completely different first name, so check-ups on his background as Quentin Beck wouldn't go through - I refuse to believe that S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't at least try a search for him - maybe they didn't probe into backgrounds for everyone with that surname, but they had to have generally checked, right?

Ludwig opened his eyes, wondering where he was.  
  
'Glad to see you're back in the land of the living, Beck.'  
  
He knew that voice. He couldn't talk though, not with a breathing tube down his throat. His eyes settled on Victoria and he moved his hand, palm open. She took it and held on, and Ludwig was glad that he still had people who cared about him. He'd let the whole Mysterio thing get to his head, thinking he was invincible. But Victoria was here and he was alive; he wasn't going to waste his second chance; and he needed to apologise to his peers, make things right if he could after he'd threatened their lives.  
  
'I'm going to get the doctor, okay. Don't take the tube out on your own.'  
  
He wasn't an idiot, not like the sheer number of stupid characters in films and television shows who ripped themselves free of IVs and breathing tubes as if they'd all been to medical school. He laid back and closed his eyes again, thinking about what had happened in London. Spider-Man had thwarted him, survived a goddamn train bulldozing him just to systematically destroy everything he and his team had been planning for years.  
  
Peter Parker. He was going to go after that kid when he got his strength back and no mistake. The world knew him as Quentin Beck, but Peter would come to think of Ludwig as his worst fucking nightmare. When he could talk again, he would need to know which contingency plan the group had chosen.  
  
He heard the sound of approaching steps and saw Victoria walk in with someone he didn't recognise. 'This is Dr Harlan Stillwell; he's been looking after you the past few months. I'll let you two get to know one another.'  
  
Ludwig didn't want Victoria to leave him but there wasn't anything he could do about it at the moment.  
  
'Let's see how you fare on your own, shall we?' Dr Stillwell carefully removed the breathing tube and set it to the side, turning the ventilator off. 'Your throat's going to be sore, but that'll be temporary.'  
  
'How long?' Ludwig shut his eyes, the pain from speaking catching up with him.  
  
'Just a few minutes. I put you in a medically-induced coma, as there was extensive damage from the bullet and you needed to be able to heal properly. Your team moved you off the bridge, using Riva's drones as a cloaking device; while it's not recommended that you move people with foreign objects inside of them, they did bring me in soon enough that I was able to stabilise you.'  
  
'Thank you.' He thought it usually took about a day to recover from intubation, but Stillwell's comment that it would only take a few minutes seemed to be proven correct, as his throat didn't seem as sore from talking – not like it had when he'd questioned the doctor. 'Shouldn't my throat be taking a bit longer to heal?'  
  
'That's part of the reason I had to keep you under. The damage from the bullet wreaked havoc on your insides. But luckily, I'd been working on a breakthrough cure and was weeks away from testing it on humans, when animal trials were proven to be successful.'  
  
'I'm sorry, I was the human guinea pig for _what_?'  
  
'For years, I've been isolating healing compounds from a variety of creatures – dolphins, the axolotl, starfish. I've finally worked out the correct formula for a serum that will allow other animals to benefit from those compounds without side-effects. I tested it with some tissue samples of yours and no complications arose, so congratulations, Beck. You're now self-healing.'  
  
'Self-healing?' Ludwig was torn between being ecstatic about the procedure, worried about possible consequences down the road, and infuriated that someone made a decision like that without his approval. Stillwell went about removing some needles and disconnecting his feeding tube.  
  
'Abrasions gone in seconds, cuts healed in minutes, wounds vanished in hours. Gotta say, I'm a little jealous.'  
  
'I suppose it's too much to expect this got approved by the government.'  
  
'Yeah, they're still rather touchy about genetic experimentation.'  
  
'You don't say,' Ludwig said, his tone facetious. With the freedom to move around now, he sat up and checked the muscles in his legs, surprised by how well they seemed to be responding after months of neglect – maybe Stillwell really had been on to something and Beck had hit the jackpot. He put his feet on the floor.  
  
'Here, let me spot you, just in case.'  
  
Ludwig took the offered help, but found he didn't really need it. 'Wow. I feel great.'  
  
'Guess my next subject is going to be myself.'  
  
Not if he could help it. If this gave him an edge over Spider-Man, he was going to be the only one who had it. His eyes darted to the table at the far end of the room, focussed in on a knife. 'Table and back? Then you can run the post-op labs for your reports?'  
  
'Sounds good.'  
  
Ludwig stepped over, measuring his pace carefully, not wanting to seem overly eager and tipping the doctor off to his plans. He made sure to wobble a bit closer to the table and rushed the last few steps to grab onto the surface for support, surreptitiously palming the knife. Like clockwork, the doctor raced over to assist him and Ludwig took that opportunity to jab the knife into the man's jugular.  
  
'Should have been more confident in your work, doc,' Ludwig grinned. 'Too bad your experiments are going to end with me. But thank you, truly, for saving my life.'  
  
Ludwig held the doctor down, despite the man fighting with him, struggling to find some way to get to the table, perhaps use those compounds to save his own life. With the strength of his repaired muscles, Ludwig didn't give the doctor the chance. The knife clattered to the floor and he just waited, watching as the life went out of the doctor's eyes. Better safe than sorry. Grabbing a bone saw off the table – doctors and their laboratories – Beck sawed the man's head clean off, obliterating the slightest chance the man had of being revived.  
  
He found some isopropyl and doused the table and the doctor's body. Looking around for a way to set a fire, his eyes landed on the machines that had been monitoring him. He unplugged the cord from the monitor and grabbed the knife he had dropped, stripping the rubber casing from the end of the plug. Splicing the wires down a fair bit of ways, he carefully tapped them together, rubbing them against one another and directing the sparks towards the alcohol.  
  
Ludwig left the room quickly before he ended up trapped and burning to death himself – though he wondered if his body would recover from that. No sense in finding out sooner than he had to, though. He met Victoria in the hallway and ushered her back the way she had come.  
  
'Is that smoke? What happened?'  
  
'The doctor had an accident.'  
  
'What do you mean " _he had an accident_ "?'  
  
Ludwig turned towards Victoria and held her against the wall. 'I mean, I killed him.'  
  
'You what? Quentin… what the hell were you thinking?'  
  
'He wanted to give himself the same abilities he gave me. He had to go.'  
  
'And if something goes wrong down the line?'  
  
'Then it's a good thing I have geniuses like you around.' Ludwig gave her a trademark wink and smile that was sure to pull her back over to his side. 'Since I feel great right now, I think it's high time I tracked our arachnid friend down for round two, see how _he_ likes being left for dead.'  
  
Victoria sighed, offering him a small grin of her own. 'Speaking of Parker, we went with contingency plan 7 after he sent the drones away. We had just enough drone footage to splice the video together since we were fortunate enough that he phrased calling off the drone strike the way he did.'  
  
'We outed him? How did we get the footage to leak?'  
  
'We sent The Daily Bugle an anonymous tip and link to the doctored video. J. Jonah Jameson was all too happy to bring Parker down.'  
  
Ludwig – no, he needed to get back into Quentin's character; he was back now and couldn't afford to slip up – eased a few steps back and he and Victoria continued down the hallway, away from the fire. 'And where is Peter now?'  
  
'He's been evading capture.'  
  
'Well, if anyone can track his location, it's us.'  
  
'Damn right. Now come on. It might be a good idea if you thought up an apology to the team for threatening us all.'  
  
'I figured. But after that, why did you guys bother to save me at all?' That was one question that had been knocking around his head since he woke up. The sprinkler system activated and the two of them quickened their pace so they weren't fully soaked before they made it off the floor.  
  
'We kind of decided that _you_ being shot made up for it, perhaps humbled you a bit. I'm beginning to think the latter part doesn't apply.'  
  
Quentin side-eyed Victoria and noticed she had a teasing smirk on her face, one he returned. 'So, repentance and gratitude?'  
  
'I think that would be your best bet.'  
  
'You and Janice deserve that whole-heartedly, and Guterman maybe. But Riva fucked up the whole thing by not reporting the damaged drone sooner.'  
  
'If it weren't for William, you'd have died on the bridge. He got our old drones online and we were able to collect you without anyone the wiser.'  
  
'Fine.' Quentin sighed. He supposed Riva had come through for the team after all, come through for him, even after Quentin had yelled at him and held everyone had gunpoint. Victoria opened the door to the stairwell – a safer bet than the elevators since Quentin had started a fire – and waved him in. 'Why thank you, Dr Snow.'  
  
'You're welcome, Dr Beck.'  
  
  
  
Peter huddled close to the burn bin, trying to stay warm in the cold October nights of New York City. The smell from his clothes was worse mixed with the smoke but at least the other homeless people and street wanderers didn't give him much grief if they recognised him past the choppy fuzz of his facial hair. Most of them were veterans with bad PTSD that had been shafted by the government and their families – the few he'd been able to have a coherent conversation with had actually commiserated with him at being tossed aside after everything he'd done trying to save the world and just help people.  
  
He hadn't been able to shave in months, hadn't washed himself in weeks, and his food source was limited to dumpsters or tossed-out restaurant food. He'd tried going to shelters, but there were too many volunteers there who spotted him and tried to inform authorities. He missed his aunt, his friends; he couldn't go back to the Avengers Facility since too many citizens camped out to await him. Hell, he even missed going to school and having homework.  
  
Peter didn't want to risk going back home for anything; he'd taken MJ out of the fray when the mob had descended on him after the announcement that he was Spider-Man. They'd only been able to share a few words before he had left her – he couldn't be on the run if he was worried about his aunt; he'd told Michelle to pass on the message begging his aunt to deny knowing he was Spider-Man, told her to spread word amongst their friends to distance themselves from him to protect themselves, given her his phone so it couldn't be used to trace him. Michelle had promised that they would all be looking for a way to restore his good name, but it had been three months since that day and the people still hated him.  
  
The murals of him that people had created in support were all defaced now, splashed with words like _enemy, murderer, killer, menace, false hero_ , and a hundred other variations, some with explicit and graphic designs added expressing their hatred for him. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he ran into people with _those_ thoughts going through their heads. His instincts would tell him to fight back, defend himself, but his enhanced abilities might hurt them, only proving their point that he was a danger to them.  
  
He had turned 17 not too long after he'd gone on the run – a few of the guys on the street had offered him a few swigs of something in a paper bag. At least it had kept him warm when the weather dipped below 70 degrees that night. He wanted to find out how his aunt was doing, wanted to know she was safe, but he couldn't chance visiting her, couldn't call her or anyone else he knew. He hated this – the loneliness was the worst of it.  
  
He shuffled out of the way and back to the outer edge of the circle of people, all trying to stay warm tonight. He had needed to ditch his suit in an alleyway after the broadcast and he'd changed into some discarded clothes from the trash bins. A dirty hoodie three sizes too big for him and a pair of jeans he'd needed to cuff several times over were all he could find. Later, he'd been able to find some holey socks and run-down trainers busted out along the soles. If push came to shove and a villain showed up, he could still retrieve and don his suit and try to stop the threat. Maybe that would restore his name a little, maybe not – New York City was a fickle beast. He'd stopped feeling sorry for himself a week into his exile. This was going to be his life from now on and he had to get used to it.  
  
A shiver ran through him but it wasn't from the cold. He stood stock-still as a voice whispered in his ear – a voice he knew all too well, a voice that he hadn't heard since the day that changed his life, the same voice that had outed him to the public three months ago.  
  
'Unless you want everyone here to die, you're coming with me.'  
  
Peter closed his eyes, wishing he'd had the sense to always keep his suit close to him. His webslingers were deep in his pockets, just in case, but he didn't want to reach for them unless Beck took the movement as a threat. 'Fine,' he whispered back to the man.  
  
Peter let Beck hold his wrists behind his back and steer him away from the crowd and deep into the alley. He wanted to fight Beck, expose him, but he didn't know if they were truly being watched – if Beck or someone on the man's team had a drone trained on civilians, or worse his aunt or his friends, then fighting back would put them in danger or kill them. Peter couldn't take the chance that Beck was bluffing.  
  
Beck opened a door in another alleyway, the lack of noise or lights giving Peter the impression that it was abandoned. The guy had probably scoped out all available locations within the area in which he could either talk with or kill Peter.  
  
'What do you want, Beck? You exposed me and the only way I can keep anyone I care about safe is by living on the streets. Haven't you won already?'  
  
'You left me for dead on that bridge, Peter. I'd say we're a far cry from being even.'  
  
'For I guy who says I left him for dead, you seem to be pretty alive to me.'  
  
'Then we'll say I have a grudge. So, let's go. Round two. You don't have your suit and I don't have any drones on me. I'd say this is going to be a fair fight.'  
  
'You realise I don't need my suit, right? Super strength, super stamina, super reflexes, enhanced healing… do you want me to go on?' Peter ducked a swing from Beck and returned it with a thrown punch of his own. 'Make this easy on yourself, Beck. You're no match for me, whether I'm suited up or not.'  
  
He let Beck recover and waited for the other man to go on the offence again; this fight wasn't his idea and if Beck conceded, then it would just be over. He flipped out of Beck's tackle, spun mid-jump and landed behind the guy. He grabbed Beck's arm and twisted, holding him still by putting pressure on the guy's extended elbow.  
  
'Just stop this, or you'll wind up hurt.' Peter cringed at the sound of Beck snapping his elbow to get away from him. Desperate much? 'See.'  
  
'You're not the only one with a few tricks up his sleeve.' The sound of Beck locking his elbow back into its socket made Peter flinch away.  
  
'Really, man?'  
  
'Let's just say there are always scientists out there pushing the boundaries of modern medicine. And thanks to a nice cocktail, I've got enhanced healing, too. I didn't even atrophy while I was in a coma.'  
  
Peter sighed as he realised that Beck had started up this fight with him simply because he could heal quickly now. It only meant Peter didn't have to pull his punches. 'Look, Beck, I thought you were dead. Otherwise, I would have made sure you went to a hospital.'  
  
'Enough! I lost three months of my life, thanks to you.'  
  
'Well, right back at you, asshole. Look, if we both can heal, then what the hell is the point of fighting?'  
  
'It's a good way of working out our anger with each other.'  
  
Well, Beck had a point there. 'Fine. If that's all your looking for, bring it.'  
  
Despite the guy's newly-acquired healing factor, Peter was faster, stronger, and it was only making Beck more furious, and with his ire came sloppiness. Peter ended the fight by crouching low and sweeping Beck's legs out from under him. 'Ready to give up yet?'  
  
Peter stood up and stayed on the balls of his feet, dancing around the guy, admittedly enjoying the bout of exercise due to the sparring match. Beck was breathing hard and turned over on his stomach, a hand reaching out for help. Peter groaned as his good streak won out and he offered his own hand for help. When Beck grasped it, Peter found himself pulled down to the ground with the other man on top of him.  
  
The position of Beck's body on top of his own was only too obvious and the way Beck moved his leg in between Peter's had him _sent_. After three months of not having any privacy to do… anything, Peter moaned at the contact, embarrassed at just how easily he hardened.  
  
'You like that, Peter?'  
  
Peter screwed his eyes shut, but nodded – it wasn't as if Beck couldn't tell. His blood had been pumping from the fight and now it was racing through his body for another reason. God, he hated how weak his resolve was, hated that Beck of all people could get him to react like this. He felt Beck grab his chin and turn his head forward and the moment Beck's lips crashed against his own, he let go.  
  
He knew his mouth must taste like crap, could taste it himself, but Beck didn't seem to mind as the man was relentless. Hands started roving and somewhere between hisses of pain and mewls of pleasure, Peter found himself with his jeans down around his knees. Beck moved him about like he was a rag doll and Peter's legs were over his head as Beck pushed the jeans to his ankles, giving Peter a window through which he could see Beck.  
  
Beck freed himself from his own trousers and Peter's asshole clenched in anticipation of receiving that much length and girth. His ass clenched again when Beck spat on his hole, cool saliva trickling in a place heretofore unexplored. Peter sucked on Beck's fingers when the guy pushed them roughly into his mouth, licking them and getting them wet, knowing what was about to happen and wanting to make it as easy as possible for him.  
  
Beck's hand on his cock was pure delirium and only spurred Peter on in blowing the guy's fingers. He moaned when they left his mouth and groaned as Beck teased his hole, gently at first, then spearing one finger into him. Peter's vision turned blurry and he felt hot… everywhere, a blinding inferno coursing through his veins when Beck touched _that_ part inside of him. Soon another finger had joined the first and, God, Peter felt so full down there. 'Fuck, Beck.'  
  
'If you insist.' Peter heard Beck spit again, but when he felt nothing, he craned his head up between his legs to look. Beck's cock was hard and leaking and Peter looked up into Beck's eyes, feeling ashamed at just how much he wanted this man – the same man who had ruined his life, Peter now wanted to destroy his ass. Beck crawled over, positioning the tip of his cock against Peter's ready hole and he pushed in at the same time he kissed him.  
  
Peter didn't care that his legs were starting to cramp or that his neck hurt or that his ass was stretched out to hell and back – because Beck knew _just_ where to thrust. A litany of curses and moans were all that expressed his desire for Beck to take him roughly. Because this was anything but gentle; his first time was in an abandoned building, dirty and raw and it was fucking amazing. The only thing wrong about it was his partner, but Peter couldn't imagine anyone else but Beck giving him this release.  
  
The callouses on Beck's hands didn't stop Peter's cock from aching for every squeeze and stroke. He could feel his body and balls tighten and he was gone – a warm sticky wetness spurting between his body and Beck's. Quentin ducked his head down and then brought it back up for another kiss; Peter tasted his spunk on Beck's tongue and sucked on it, never having felt like this before.  
  
He had always assumed this part of intimacy was going to be awkward, that he wouldn't know what to do or say. But his instinct had taken over and his body had allowed itself to be used, gone pliable and wanting. Beck was still thrusting and Peter felt it everywhere – he was deliciously sore and it was all he could do to keep himself from collapsing. Even when he took care of things by himself, he had never pushed himself past the first orgasm before. Just rested a bit and resumed things in a few minutes.  
  
Beck just kept stroking Peter's soft cock and Peter panted through the pain as that rough palm and those calloused fingers hit every sensitive nerve along Peter's length. When Beck started kissing him again, thrusting deep until Peter could feel the man's balls slapping against his lower back, Peter got hard once more – couldn't help it. Beck moved to Peter's neck, nipping at his jugular, biting at his clavicle. Peter was already leaking again and… 'Fuck, Beck!'  
  
'Yeah, you like that?' Beck's words were accompanied by sharp slaps to Peter's cheeks, causing his ass to tighten and Beck's cock to hurt just a little more.  
  
'Yes… God, yes!' Spots swam in front of Peter's eyes, his prostate sending lightning shooting through his body every time Beck's cock brushed against it. Then Beck bit hard into his shoulder and Peter felt the man seize up, his ass swallowing every spurt of Beck's hot cum. Holy shit. When Beck recovered, the man sat up and spit on Peter's cock, dipping some fingers into Peter's ass and coating them with cum before using it as lube for Peter's cock.  
  
With a few more slick pumps, Peter urged his body to the finish line, if only to stretch his legs out again. A breathy cry escaped him as he came for the second time and he felt his warm jizz spurt over his neck and face. Peter moaned when Beck's fingers played with the cum, smearing it over parts of his face that weren't already coated in the white substance.  
  
Beck moved to the side, pushing Peter's legs to the floor so they weren't stuck in their current position. Peter didn't think he could stand up right now if it meant he won a million dollars. 'I think it's fair to say Round 2 was yours, but Round 3? That was all mine.'  
  
Peter opened his eyes with some effort and looked over at Beck – those ocean-blue eyes and that wicked smile sending chills through him. Would this be the way they ended every fight from now on? Peter giving in to Beck's touches? The way Beck could claim his soul with a single kiss was a power Quentin had that Peter wouldn't ever be able to admit out loud. Peter was still breathing in pants, a tingling in his legs signalling that the cramps were wearing off. Why had he let Beck take him like this? He felt gross on a whole new level that had nothing to do with ablutions or hygiene – the dirt and shame was all on the inside, a place Peter couldn't scrub clean with soap and hot water.  
  
Peter turned his head away, trying to stay the tears threatening to spill forth. 'Just go away, Beck.' His voice was quiet, small, foreign even to his own ears. He hadn't thought it possible to be so broken by someone, had thought he'd reached rock bottom months ago, but knowing that there was a hell deeper than the one he'd been living in for the past three months was excruciating. What was worse was knowing that he had liked surrendering himself, liked letting go of every semblance of control he had – and to an enemy at that? He was damaged and disgraced, whipped into submission by what had just happened.  
  
Something about Beck was addictive and exciting as much as it was cold and heartless. Peter wasn't going to delude himself into thinking this had been anything other than fucking – a way for Beck to own something of Peter's no one else ever would. Shuffling sounds roused him from his thoughts and he peeked over his shoulder to see Beck tucking himself back into his trousers before walking away and leaving the building.  
  
His cum was all over the hoodie, drying on his face like glue, and Beck's cum was dribbling out of his ass, along with any semblance of dignity Peter had once possessed. Without bothering to pull up his jeans, Peter curled into a ball and cried, hating himself for wanting Beck to just come back and hold him. In the darkness and cold of the abandoned building, alone save for his own spiralling thoughts, Peter whispered three words into the chill of the night. Though the words were meant for Beck, he knew that he would never recover the moral strength to speak them to Quentin's face.  
  
'I hate you.'


End file.
